


Somewhere safer

by caixa



Series: Real Fun 43 [1]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Eventual Rooftop Terrace Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mostly Pure Smut, Porn with Feelings, Real Madrid CF, Shameless Smut, Threesome - M/M/M, did I mention smut?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-03 20:02:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8728267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caixa/pseuds/caixa
Summary: “Gareth is hot with the concerned frown over his steely baby blues, wide pouty lips sealed in deep silence.Not that Cristiano should think of him that way. And he isn’t really. He’s just observing.He’d better concentrate on getting James out of the bar.”
“Gareth loves Cristiano so much that just thinking this thought about him makes his skin tingle and stings under his eyelids like he could burst to tears. Like he misses him even though he is in the same room.He still calls him a show-off, and he still turns his eyes from him to James.”
After a game in an unnamed foreign town James Rodríguez gets attacked by some drunk girl fans in a night club. Cristiano Ronaldo and Gareth Bale are sober enough to come to the rescue.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've written this as an independent one-shot but got fed up because I write it so frustratingly slowly. So I cut it in two. Story of my fanfic writer life.
> 
> Hopefully you'll get chapter 2 shortly.
> 
> And oh yes, it's not much more than slow detailed threesome porn. If it's not your thing, don't read it.
> 
> And if you know any die hard Neil Young fans who would be deeply disturbed with such use of the lyrics of his classic rock masterpiece "Like a Hurricane" please don't tell them about this.

 

**_A crowded hazy bar_ **

Going clubbing is a wrong move.

They were promised a private VIP space but it’s not holding up, it’s fucking up. The club manager has no control over his staff or the staff over their clients, whatever, the result is the same.

Some of the doormen, maybe it’s just one of them, lets in a wave, a flood, of drunken girls. Does he think he’ll gain some sexual advantage of it later on, who cares. They are there, the girls, and they are more than trouble, they are dangerous.

“Ha-MEES you are my FAVOUritee you are so cu-cute, he-he issh so CUTE!” one of them shouts.

She tries to get closer, leans over but loses her balance. Of course she has to have ridiculous clothes, her skirt is too short and her heels are too high, the goddam stiletto looks part metal and – OUCH! – it hits James in the ankle, right between his shoe and his jeans.

He shrieks and clutches his foot. A hole is torn in his sock, no sight of blood because it is absorbed in the sock and the sock is black, it won’t show yet.

Sergio loses it, shouts at everyone, but hardly anybody in this town understands Spanish. But it doesn’t matter really, Cristiano can take the situation over on the side.

He finds a waiter who is clever and alert enough to get the manager there. A bartender finds a first aid kit and leans over to check James’ ankle, he tells he’s served as a medic in the military.

The manager apologizes dozens of times, gathers his staff and sends the lousy drunk-girl-hoarding bouncers away from the VIP section and appoints the most reliable ones, at least so he says, to watch the doors there, and the area is cleared of the drunken falling-off-their-heels girls.

“We need a car. It needs to be a big one, his foot must be up. Not to the front door, you must have a back entrance, don’t you? Thank you so much”, Cristiano says to the manager, pats his arm and flashes him a smile.

It works wonders, the smile. Makes things happen.

 

James is on a sofa on the side of the bar. Gareth Bale is there with him; it surprises Cristiano a bit, but then again, it makes perfect sense. Gareth has probably been sitting there anyway, wishing he was somewhere else instead, preferably in his hotel room bed, sleeping.

Gareth has James’ foot on his lap and holds an ice pack on his ankle. He lifts the pack when Cristiano approaches them, shows him the bandage underneath it, it looks neat and clean enough. Maybe the military medic bartender knew what he was doing.

Gareth has James’ other shoe on the sofa on his side, the removed sock rolled neatly inside. He rests his free hand over it like he didn’t know where to keep it otherwise. He looks up to Cris from under his dark brows, blue eyes so pale in the dim lights of the club, deep frowns on his forehead. He blows air out from between his lips, has nothing to say.

He looks dapper in his black suit and white shirt, dark tie hanging loose, collar button open, hair slicked up and twined in a high, neat bun. Cristiano guesses Gareth hasn’t packed anything more casual with him, nothing between the suit and training sweats.

It’s a good thing he’s such a lazy traveler, because man, he’s unusually pretty tonight dressed like that.

Pretty? Gareth is hot with the concerned frown over his steely baby blues, wide pouty lips sealed in deep silence.

Not that Cristiano should think of him that way. And he isn’t really. He’s just observing.

He’d better concentrate on getting James out of the bar.

 

Cristiano pulls a chair next to the sofa, close to James’ head that’s resting on an armrest.

“How are you feeling, James?”  he asks in Spanish, James tells he guesses he’s all right, the foot just hurts but it’s normal it would.

James is shaking, he looks to be in a mild shock, it’s either panicking over the situation or the pain, Cris hopes it’s not that he will have an infection starting from the wound.

“Why are you shaking, do you know, James?” he asks gently, stroking James’ hair to calm him.

“I d-don’t know, I feel cold I guess”, James answers quietly.

Gareth picks up the word for cold and takes off his jacket. Gives him something to do with his hands, the ice pack rests on James’ ankle as he puts his jacket over him. Cris straightens and wraps it closer like a blanket.

James smiles at them, looking at both of them, eyes filled with innocent gratitude. The smile is small on James’ standards, lips closed.

 

The car has arrived. Gareth tips the bartender and asks him for a fresh cold ice pack, nodding with his head to have it handed to Cristiano.

He hands Cristiano James’ shoe from the sofa and squats on James’ side.

“Put your arms around my neck”, he says, sliding his arms under James’ knees and round his back. He takes him to his arms, shifts his weight as close to his body as he can for balance, stands upright and starts carrying him to the direction manager points to them.

The corridor to the backdoor exit is narrow. Gareth has to turn almost sideways to avoid knocking James’s feet on the walls. James bows his head close to his shoulder.

Cristiano follows them. Gareth’s jacket keeps sliding off James, he takes it to his hand along with the shoe and the ice pack.

Gareth’s shirt stretches over his upper back, shoulders and arms that are tensed from carrying the weight of James. The fabric is thin, taping on his lower back shining through. No loose curls on his neck, he’s put his hair up so tight tonight.

James’ tattooed arm is beige and black compared to Gareth’s shirt, white and black compared to his neck. The strain is showing as a flush of blood on the Welshman’s neck: it’s not as pale as usual, it’s a shade of rouge red.

Cris would like to touch them both, slide his fingers and the palm of his hand on the cross of the smooth arm and the sunkissed neck.

No. James needs care. Concentrate.

He concentrates on the hypnotic rhythm of Gareth’s steady walking, on the sound of his breath that gets a bit more audible each step he takes with James on his arms.

What he would give to hear it so hard and heavy close to his ear.

 

**_Far across the moonbeam_ **

 

The taxi is a lovechild of a minivan and a limo, a U-shaped crushed velvet seat in the back, easily accessed through a sliding side door. Gareth places James carefully on the longest stretch of the bench, back leaning on one corner of the U curve. He gets out of the car and goes sit in front next to the driver, letting Cristiano take the remaining space of the backseat.

It makes sense. Cris has his jacket to cover James with, and the ice for his ankle.

He’s closer to James, too. Gareth would have nothing to say to the poor lad. It’s easier for Cris to ask how he’s doing and to console him.

Gareth regrets he didn’t make even a smallest nice gesture to James when he left him on the back of the car. If he couldn’t think of a word to say he could have done _something_ , patted his arm, squeezed his hand, felt his forehead to know if he’s feverish or cold, stroked his hair. Anything.

He turns to look at him over his shoulder but doesn’t catch his eyes any more. They are looking at Cristiano who is leaning towards James with a gentle smile on his face, holding his hand.

It cuts to Gareth like a knife. He turns his head, looks into the night of the strange town through the windshield.

 

**_Somewhere safer, where the feeling stays_ **

 

Cristiano has already arranged the team doctor to meet them in his room so they take James there. He didn’t want to waste time at the noisy club by asking James for his room number, he probably wouldn’t have remembered it from the shock anyway.

Besides, Cris has the biggest room. The hotel owner is a big time Ronaldo fan and insisted on giving his hero a suite, and who are Real Madrid and Cristiano to say no to that.

A private lift takes them straight to the top floor room. There is a plush sofa, at least a 4-seater for normal people, with a large padded footstool pushed to it in the middle.

Gareth helps James there, taking good care to lower his hurt foot on the stool as gently as possible, giving James a warm, encouraging smile. He takes his time leaving his side: he only detaches his hand from him after he’s squeezed his shoulder, rubbed the nape of his neck and ruffled his hair. Something in James’ presence - his body, his skin, his vulnerability? - feels irresistible to his hands tonight.

James looks back at him and smiles, a tired smile, a bit sad around the eyes.

Still, it’s a smile and it’s good. It eases the embarrassment Gareth feels because all the words he should say are stuck in his throat, in any language; at least he has made an effort to connect and it seems to pay off.

 

The doctor unwraps James’ bandages and studies the wound with a flashlight. The suite has soft, indirect lighting that is not really good for medical procedures.

Cristiano tries to make sense of the control panel near the door, the room probably has a brighter light too, for cleaning at least, but he only manages to turn the air conditioning off and heating on. He curses.

The doctor doesn’t mind that, he is concentrated on checking James. “The wound looks well cared for, good job whoever it was”, he says.

“And it’s only cut through the layers of the skin, that’s why there was so much blood. The pressure from the heel is really just a knock, I don’t feel anything dislocated here”, he tells. “How would you describe the pain, was it a sting?” he asks James who nods.

“It will cure itself”, the doctor says. “Good job keeping it raised and cold, Cris and Gareth, it will reduce the swelling, it already has.” He covers James’ wound with a fresh bandage.

“He was shaking and dizzy. Should we be worried about that?” Cristiano asks.

“You have a mild tendency for panic or anxiety attacks, don’t you James?” doctor asks and James nods, again.

“It was probably that, it was a chaotic situation from what I heard from you, Cris”, doctor says and asks James if he had been drinking.

“Yes. The last one they poured me was something green, it felt like it dried up my whole mouth”, James tells and grins.

“Sounds like absinthe”, doctor says. “It’s strong and it goes to your head, it can make you feel dizzy”, he says answering the smile. “It was rumoured to be a mild hallusinogenic but it’s really not, no more than any other stiff liquor if you drink it enough I mean.”

He stands up to leave.

“I could have given you a mild sedative to ease you to sleep, James, but you won’t get it now because you have alcohol in your system. Your vaccinations are in order so you don’t need a tetanus shot either. You’ll get better, just rest your foot for tonight and keep the wound clean. Take care, James. Good job, Cristiano and Gareth. You’ll see him to his room when he wants, right?”

“We will. Thank you for coming. Sorry to trouble you in the middle of the night”, Cristiano says.

“It’s my job. All for the club and its players. Good night, you all”, the doctor replies and steps in the elevator.

 

Gareth sits down next to James, patting his shoulder.

“That was good news, eh?” he says to James.

Cristiano goes to the minibar, opens a bottle of champagne, pours some in three glasses, hands two to James and Gareth, takes a sip of the third one and places it back on top of the minibar. He gets a bottle of water instead, drinks in thirsty gulps.

James downs the champagne, Gareth tastes his a couple of times and stretches over to leave the glass on the side table, asks Cris for the water bottle. He corks it, throws it to Gareth who catches it, smiles gratefully and drinks.

Cristiano goes back to the control panel, tries to get the air conditioning back on. He only manages to dim the lights further down.

“Shit it’s hot in here”, he says, opens a few buttons of his shirt and strips it off over his head with one fast, frustrated and impatient move.

”Showoff”, Gareth says. His voice is soft and affectionate, his eyes linger on Cristiano’s body before he turns them to James.

Deep down he doesn’t think that Cristiano’s habit of stripping off his shirt as soon as possible after he enters a hotel room comes from wanting others to look at his beautiful physique.

Cristiano is a supernova. He is charged with so much internal energy that it exceeds the limits of his physical being. That’s why his bright chocolate brown eyes glow and flash with enthusiasm to life itself, that’s why he always wants more.

That’s why he is so often so hot.

Gareth loves Cristiano so much that just thinking this thought about him makes his skin tingle and stings under his eyelids like he could burst to tears. Like he misses him even though he is in the same room.

He still calls him a show-off, and he still turns his eyes from him to James.

“He’s right, though”, Gareth says to James. He lifts his arm to the back of the sofa above James’ head, grazes his other shoulder and the side of his head lightly with his fingertips. He leans closer, close to his ear, close enough for his breath to tickle it when he whispers: “It’s hot.”

James squints at him and smiles. He hands his empty glass to Cristiano who steps over to take it.

James’ narrowed eyes have a dizzy look in them, like he has just been woken up to a bright lighted room and is lingering halfway between wanting to stay awake and drifting back to sleep.

Gareth wants him to stay awake. He starts kissing the side of his neck. His tactic is most careful and organized: he presses one soft peck after another right next to each other, upwards from the collar until he reaches his hairline right behind his ear.

James leans his head back to Gareth’s arm. His lips are slightly parted and his eyes are closed but he is not sleeping, his breath gives it away.

Gareth presses his whole mouth over James’ ear. James has big ears but Gareth has a big mouth. He traces every line and dimple and furrow and bulge of the ear with his tongue and hears James breathing hard and heavy.

He leaves the ear slowly, sucking the earlobe lightly as he parts from it. He smiles at James who opens his eyes again and smiles back.

“Hot”, Gareth whispers.

James turns his head on Gareth’s arm, face towards him. It’s not James’ ear next to his whispering mouth any more, it’s his lips. They kiss like it’s the most natural thing to do.

Gareth fondles James’ cheek, hair, neck and chest with the hand he’s stretched across his shoulders, lets his other hand land on James’ thigh, high up.

 

There’s a slight shift of weight on the giant plush sofa. Gareth opens his eyes for a second to see if he sensed it right; yes, Cristiano sits on the other side of James.

He can sit there but Gareth doesn’t have to mind. He can go on kissing James whose lips and tongue are soft as peaches with whipped cream.

James detaches himself from his lips and disappointment flushes through Gareth. For a moment he’s certain that James will turn away from him because Cris is there.

James doesn’t. He takes off his shirt, tosses it on the floor and jumps back at Gareth, tasting his mouth, tucking his fingers in his neatly done hair, messing them, touching his neck, sliding his hands under his collar. He undoes Gareth’s tie and lets it fall down. His fingers grope around for his shirt buttons, and when they find them, he slowly starts unbuttoning them.

Gareth squeezes his thigh tighter, grabs the back of his neck, enjoying the smoothness and warmth of James’ skin under his fingers and the palm of his hand.

A hand lands on top of Gareth’s hand, the one on James’ thigh. It’s not James, his hands are still roaming around Gareth’s hair, neck and shirt-clad chest.

It’s Cristiano and he moves Gareth’s hand on James’ crotch. James moans into his mouth, doesn’t stop kissing him, lifts his hips to the touch, grinding to the hand, the movement telling Gareth’s hand to rub harder and his body does what James’ body asks, his conscious thoughts not needing to interfere.

The noises that James makes into his mouth vibrate in his head nicely but he wants to hear them; he moves his mouth to James’ cheek, to the side of his neck. He sucks the skin and works the bulge on James’ crotch with his hand, tucking his long fingers down between his thighs, pleased with the response when  they open and when bulge presses his hand more and more intensely, partly because James grinds faster and harder, partly because his touch makes it grow bigger and harder. He does like that.

He does like the noises James lets out in the air of the dimly lit overheated suite, his moans are husky and low, breathy and throaty like his speaking, they come out of his mouth between beautiful erratic pants and hisses with some half-swallowed Spanish curses.

Cris moves Gareth’s hand again, he’s playing him like a puppet and Gareth lets him do it. He shifts the hand up on James’ flat hard stomach and goes on to pull his jeans off altogether.

Gareth feels the flat firm plane, the muscles that rise and descend under his hand with the pace of James’ breathing. The warm skin stretching over the abs gives his fingertips a feeling that resembles static electricity.

His other hand roams down from James’ neck. He glides his both hands slowly up and down James’ sides, likes touching and feeling the smooth sharp angles and curves, his head bowed to kiss and suck James’ neck and the skin on his collarbone, secretly satisfied with the certainty that the way he sucks the skin in his mouth and keeps it trapped between his tongue and his upper teeth will leave a visible bruise just above his crown tattoo, let him explain or cover that.

 

“Go down on him, Gareth”, Cristiano says softly. He leans close to James’ ear and Gareth hears his velvety baritone whisper when he tells James in Spanish “You’ll love it, he’s the best”.

Gareth flushes, his mind struggles between pride and shame. How can he let Cris use him like this, like he was a gift, a party favor? How dare Cristiano praise him so shamelessly, like a pimp selling him to James; and why in god’s name does it flatter and satisfy him to hear it?

One thing is certain, though. He doesn’t question if he will do it. Not a chance he won’t.

Gareth kicks off his shoes and slides down to the carpet in front of the sofa. He gently peels James’ briefs off him and grabs his naked hips to pull him closer to the edge of the sofa, taking good care that his sore foot stays safely on the stool.

He bends James’ knees slightly and spreads his legs wide with his hands, everything between his muscled thighs on full display in front of him.

He could just make it basic, take that pretty colombian cock deep in his mouth and have James like it, but he won’t. It’s boring to be predictable. He wants to start with James like he was going to eat pussy, see if he can make him like that.

He kisses his inner thighs, gently from knees up. The sensitive skin shivers when Gareth’s moustache scratches it a bit, followed by the sloppy wetness of his mouth, leaving James trembling with anticipation for more. Gareth is careful to keep the same pace on both thighs as he slowly wanders upwards with his kissing and licking mouth.

He keeps his head down but glances up from the corner of his eye. James leans his head back, eyes closed, lips moving as if mumbling a silent prayer; Cristiano’s eyes are fixated to Gareth’s trip up towards James’ groin, his upward curving lips slightly parted, just enough to show the edges of his white upper teeth, the tip of his pink tongue that comes to touch them. Cristiano’s hand is in his lap, he is touching himself through his pants. A sense of satisfaction kicks in the bottom of Gareth’s stomach and the back of his mind when he sees it.

Gareth lets James rest his wounded foot on the stool and lifts the other leg over his shoulder as he reaches the top of his thighs. He wraps his fingers around the shaft of his cock and brings his face down below it. He licks every square inch of skin he’s spread in front of him: gentle bites and rough kisses on the inner down corners of his ass; long wide wet licks along his groins and all the way from his asshole to his balls. He hears that James’ mouth is not mumbling silent prayers any more, he’s clearly audible now.

He’s even more so when Gareth cups and curves his agile tongue on and all around his balls, teasing and fondling them as he squeezes his cock with his hand. When he moves his hand up and down on the beautifully curving, stone hard shaft, rubbing its surface with his thumb and takes his balls in his mouth one by one, licks them in there and sucks just right.

James moans and murmurs and half-shouts, half-whispers in his breathy husky voice and Gareth kind of wishes he didn’t understand a word.

Unfortunately he does because as in any foreign language you learn, in Spanish, too, it’s the dirtiest words that stick to your brain first. _“Gareth, Gareth… what a sweet bitch. Ooh you slut sucking me like that”_ he growls and Gareth thinks for a moment if he should bite the foul-mouthed Colombian where it really hurts.

He doesn’t. He keeps doing what he’s doing. He extends his tongue and draws it carefully along the underside of James’ cock, one slimy wet smooth lick all the way from root to tip, draws slow swirling circles around the head and finally lets all of the length sink slowly in, stopping for a moment when it reaches the very back of his mouth, but when he relaxes his throat enough, he can take it all in without gagging and couching and oh yes, he has James there.

If only James kept his mouth shut.

_“Fuck yes, yes… Bale I never knew you are so good, such a greedy cock sucking whore”_.

Does Gareth really have to take this? He almost stops but the glazed foggy look on Cristiano’s eyes makes him want to keep going, to give him the show he asked for.

So he bobs his head up and down, licks with his tongue, using both the coarse upper and the slick wet lower surface to make James lose the ability to form any coherent words any more (about time!), just to hear him hiss and growl, see him squirm, his hand clutching Cristiano’s hard cock (no idea when he’s grabbed that and if it was his own or Cristiano’s initiative) like it was a lifeline.

James tenses up, his hips arch upwards. One of his fists is clenches in Gareth’s hair, the other one, obviously, on Cristiano. Gareth keeps his head still, lets James come inside his mouth, giving soft but firm squeeze with his lips and tongue, milking every last drop until the hips relax and James’ spent body sinks down, half-sitting, leaning to the back of the sofa, head on Cristiano’s arm that’s stretched over the backrest.

 

Gareth storms up and pushes James lying down on the sofa seat. Cristiano’s quick reflexes save him from being trapped under them, he jumps up from his spot as Gareth forces James down on his back, wrestling himself sitting straddled on top of him, holding James’ hands down to the plush seat, bowing his head down towards his face. He pants and looks furious, James pants and looks plainly perplexed.

“Don’t ever talk to me like that again!” Gareth shouts at him.

James is genuinely startled. “I’m sorry, Gareth, I didn’t mean it bad. I lost it. It was so good.” He lifts his head, his hands still trapped down, and quickly pecks Gareth on his lips, an apologetic look in his brown eyes that often evade Gareth’s gaze but now look straight at him, quite clearly despite James’ instinct. “It was so fucking good.”

James writhes on his back as much as he can trapped under Gareth’s weight, Gareth’s suit trousers itching on his bare skin. He lets a shy smile curve his lips and light a hint of exhilaration in his eyes. “How did Cris know?” he asks.

“What?”

“That you are so good.”

Gareth smiles. “It’s called bluffing, dear. Lucky guess. Blowjobs are never bad”, he answers.

James likes how the word ‘blowjobs’ rolls on Garth’s tongue, he can’t point how exactly but it brings out the welsh accent in his speech so prominently and he says it with a smile.

Gareth leans down, lets the buttons of his shirt press on James’ chest as he kisses him deep and slow, letting him share the remnants of his own taste in his mouth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments, they were hilarious and fueled me to work my ass off to finish this soon.
> 
> I hope you like it.
> 
> My own initial reaction was, of course, something like "How can I write this? How can I post this? I hate myself. Please everybody, don't hate me."
> 
> But, basically, I just wanted to make a piece of feel good escapism where nobody is hurt and nothing is awful and everybody is loved. Then it just snowballed, tell me if it's too much. If it's too little, no, I won't snowball it any further, sorry :)

**_Dancing on the light from star to star_ **

 

Cristiano empties the glass he left earlier on top of the minibar. He goes once again to the control panel because the heat is really bugging him.

The next touch of the buttons makes the ceiling hum with low buzzing sound of an electric motor running and little circles of light start to roam on the walls. He’s started a fucking mirrorball that hangs over a coffee table further in the room, has the person that’s decorated this suite been smoking pot or crack or what?

Gareth and James keep snogging like they notice no odd change in the lighting. Cristiano would have thought that they don’t have much in common, that they don’t even like each other that much, not beyond the usual friendly politeness to a teammate, but now they’re basically glued together.

Maybe he just created a monster pushing them that way. Should’ve seen it coming. It’s probably hard not to bond with someone who sucks you off so good. Or the other way round.

 

Anyway, the weirdness of the night has reached a limit that’s Cristiano’s cue to move on.

He steps to the sofa, leans over the back and pulls Gareth’s hair, that neat bun disheveled into a high, loose ponytail. Gareth lifts his head and turns to him.

“Lovers, you’re ignoring me. Come to bed”, Cris demands and starts walking towards the bedroom. Double doors separate it from the living room area, they’re heavy with polished wood, opened wide; bedroom has the same dim indirect lighting and is decorated with soft hues of bronze and black. The slowly roaming dots of light don’t reach there as distinctively which is a relief.

Gareth gathers himself up from the sofa (and James), still in his black trousers and half-buttoned white shirt, black socks on his feet.

James sits up but Gareth won’t let him take a step. He lifts the naked midfielder hanging over his shoulder like a sack, balancing him with his hands on the back of his knees, James’ hips on his shoulder. James’ torso should be hanging down his back but it isn’t because James keeps lifting himself up, trying to tell Gareth to let him go but he can’t say two words in a row from laughing.

“Shut up, you heard him”, Gareth says and gives a bite on James’ buttock that touches the side of his neck, just for the fun of it, just because he can. James shrieks through his giggling and leans down to spank Gareth’s ass with his hands.

 

Cristiano is in bed. He leans on the large satin pillows against the headboard, a satin sheet drawn loosely to cover some of his hip area, more like an inviting decoration to accentuate everything around and under it than actual coverage. Basic Cristiano, Gareth thinks, hates and loves the way Cristiano’s obvious seductiveness makes his groin tighten up.

Gareth sits down on the edge of the bed on the more spacious side and lets James crawl down from his back. James lowers himself to the bed headfirst, supporting himself with his hands, shaking from uncontrolled giggles as he rolls over to his back, then back to his stomach, leaning to his elbows.

“There, all yours”, Gareth graciously declares to Cristiano.

Cristiano looks at Gareth and raises one eyebrow. “Come here, Gareth”, he says, patting the bed on the other side.

Gareth walks over, stands still by the side of the bed, smiles down on Cristiano.

“What, Cristiano?” he asks.

Cristiano extends his hand to pull him closer by the fabric of his trousers. “You’re too dressed up for that kind of a caveman act”, he says, unbuckles Gareth’s belt and pulls it out of the trousers’ belt loops, lets it fall on the floor. He opens Gareth’s fly and tugs the trousers down until he gets them past Gareth’s thighs, after that massive obstacle they fall down to his ankles and Gareth kicks them off, lifting his feet one by one to remove his socks.

Cristiano stretches the waistband of Gareth’s underwear, coaxes them down as much as he can with one hand, making sure it brushes along his semi-hard dick on the way, until Gareth helps and strips them down himself.

Gareth takes off a cufflink, then the next one, places them on the nightstand, clink, clank. He opens the rest of his shirt buttons, shakes the shirt off his shoulders, lets it slide and fall down to the floor.

“Better?” he asks Cristiano who nods in acceptance. “Better.”

Gareth leans over to kiss his cheek but straightens up, nature’s calling. “Sorry, ‘ll be back soon”, he says and leaves for the toilet.

Cristiano watches him stroll through the dots of light. Gareth lets his ass rock and roll from side to side teasingly slow each step he takes, surely it must be illegal for a man to carry around something as seductively round and plump as that.

He feels movement on the bed, James crawls closer, rests his adorable chin on Cristiano’s stomach.

“Don’t look at him, I’m right here”, he says, dim points of light move across his back and butt as he squiggles close enough for the light from the living room to reach him.

Indeed James is right there and it is nice that he is. Extremely nice, when he nuzzles his face on Cristiano’s skin and hums a slow song into his abs, the humid breath making his skin tingle and the soundwaves vibrating all the way to his hipbones. He buries his fingers in James’ short hair, enjoying the way it feels to his hands. “Yes you are”, Cristiano murmurs softly.

 

**_I saw your brown eyes turning once to fire_ **

****

Gareth gulps down the flat, lukewarm champagne from the glass on the side table, pours himself some cold stuff from the bottle in the fridge and approaches the bedroom with the glass in his hand.

Cristiano is in the same spot on the bed where he left him but James is not. The sheet is gone, Cristiano’s legs are spread wide and James is crouched between them, head moving up and down over Cristiano’s crotch. A winged tattoo high up between his shoulder blades seems to make a flying movement, fuzzy light circles roam slowly across his back and even fuzzier ones across Cristiano’s stomach and chest.

Cristiano’s hands are in James’ hair, his mouth is open and eyes closed. He opens the pools of chocolate the moment Gareth steps through the doors even though the thick carpet surely smothers any sound of his footsteps. He locks his gaze on Gareth’s eyes and Gareth is unable to evade it.

He doesn’t even want to. He wants to keep looking at Cris forever, no matter what is happening around them.

“Come here”, Cristiano mouths to him silently with his lips, his eyes clouded with pleasure. It’s a miracle of almost obnoxious nature that somebody’s face can stay so flawless and perfectly attractive when he’s having sex.

Gareth goes there. He sits on the bed next to Cris, facing him, watches his fascinating sex face, pupils of the brown eyes so dilated, they’re looking down at James, then up, straight to Gareth’s eyes; his lips moving restlessly, one moment opened to take deep breaths, the next teeth biting his lower lip, then his tongue extending to quickly lick his lips. Then head thrown back, eyes closed, panting.

Eyes back at Gareth’s, locked deep.

Gareth takes a gulp from his glass, puts it down on the nightstand, it makes a clinking sound on the black marble top. He presses his lips on Cristiano’s, the champagne still sparkling on his tongue, opens his mouth to give Cristiano a bubbling wet kiss, he drinks it down, spills none.

Cristiano kisses him sucking his tongue, eating his lips. Gareth supposes Cristiano’s mouth echoes everything James is doing down on him.

Suddenly he feels Cristiano’s hand on his cock and it sends such a rush through his whole body; he moans, no, wails into Cristiano’s mouth from the mere sensation. He had no idea that the touch is something he has craved so badly and so much longer than he can think of.

Cris starts jacking his cock at exactly the same rhythm as he kisses him and now he _knows_ he’s sharing the moment with James, or Cris is sharing his moment with James to him. It could be disturbing but it’s not, it’s hot.

It’s smoking hot but he knows he needs more. Cristiano’s hand and mouth are only a drop of water for somebody who’s vastly starved, hungry and thirsty all at once. He needs to feel all of Cristiano with all he has, take him, ravish him, fill him up, make him his.

Fuck him. Literally _fuck_ him. He can’t wait any longer.

Gareth breaks the kiss and moves his hands behind Cristiano’s head and neck, caresses his hairline with his fingers, his jawline with his thumbs, makes sure he looks into his eyes.

His voice comes out at the same time steady and sure, quiet and out of breath. “Please, Cristiano, love, I want you so bad. Let me fuck you. Please. I need to fuck you.” he kisses Cristiano’s lips. “Please.”

It doesn’t take more than that. Cristiano nods to Gareth and nudges James’ head gently with his hand. “James, baby, wait a little.”

James lifts his head up, releases the hard cock from his mouth, it’s wet from his spit, stands tall, throbbing. James wraps his fingers loosely around it, like keeping it entertained until the next move, waiting to hear what it will be.

“I have lube in my suitcase, it’s there”, Cristiano points to a carved wooden luggage stand near the foot of the bed. The bag is open, Gareth can see the bottle and fetches it, it’s unused.

Cristiano makes room moving to the center of the bed, kisses Gareth, strokes James’ hair and cheek; he turns to his side, Gareth behind him, James next to him. James is curious, keeps his loose grip on Cristiano’s cock, half-lies on his side leaning to his hand, looks over Cristiano’s side to Gareth.

Gareth couldn’t care less for the peeping. He cares for Cristiano, moves close to him, leans over to kiss his cheek, tells him how beautiful he is, how perfect and sexy, how impossible to resist. He nuzzles his bearded face on the side and back of Cristiano’s neck, kissing and praising him; he can almost hear him begin to purr.

Gareth slides his hands down Cristiano’s back, feeling the firm taut muscles on both sides of his spine. He can hear James kissing Cristiano’s lips, can guess that he’s pressing himself to his front, touching his chest and his cock but he doesn’t mind; if James is doing that, he does it because Cristiano likes it that way, being sandwiched between their slithering moving bodies, his own served and touched and worshipped from both sides, front and back. Both of them wanting him more than anything, living to feel his skin, drunk on the pleasure of pleasing him.

Gareth moves closer to Cristiano’s wonderful ass, rubs and squeezes his buttocks with his large dexterous hands, massaging closer and closer to the crack between them until he feels him pressing  closer. 

He lubes his fingers generously, massages Cristiano’s hole with them, takes care to feel him wanting it before he presses his middle finger in and feels it sucked there immediately; then he slides his index finger to go with it. He twists and turns the two fingers, moves them with steady slow rhythm, steering himself along the reactions he hears and feels from Cristiano, how he loves him panting and growling and murmuring, leaning himself back to him.

How it makes him to want it even more.

Gareth pulls his fingers out only to push in a tight bundle of three, all at once, halfway in, feeling Cris clench and pulsate around them. He buries his face just below his neck, bites his mouth into the thick muscle, continues with his three fingers all the way in the tight squeeze, loving the sound of Cristiano’s sudden gasp soften into a low pleased moan. “You’re so tight and perfect, Cris”, Gareth whispers to his ear, close enough for Cris to feel his steaming breath on the back of his earlobe.

James has let go of Cristiano’s lips, he is moving down with his mouth, nibbling Cristiano’s chest, kissing around the shape of his pecks, licking his nipples. His fingers are again wrapped around his cock in a teasingly gentle, almost loose grip.

Cris is immersed in a pool of pleasure. He wants to press himself to James for stronger friction on his cock, for rougher kisses on his chest, and at the same time get Gareth’s fingers even deeper, push his ass on them, fuck that beautiful long hand, expose his neck to the scratchy bearded kisses and the biting big teeth.

Are they reading his thoughts? Or are they reading each other? Suddenly the kisses grow more intense, Gareth’s mouth wet and rough on his neck, James licking his way from his chest further down,  one hand clawing his chest, the other one tightening the grip around his cock into a good squeeze.

Gareth pulls his fingers slowly out from Cristiano’s ass and is already steering his cock in to replace them. He makes sure Cristiano notices the change and yes he does, letting out a pleased, almost smiling moan when Gareth slowly pushes in.  He keeps sliding in as close as he gets, gives them both time to adjust and starts moving inside him.

James moves on to take Cristiano’s cock in his mouth. How good can his night get?

Very good. Ve-eery good.

His two lovers seem to strike a common note in a way he thought impossible. Maybe he is able to mediate them something through the reactions of his body. Maybe they’re just better at playing along with each other than he knew. Whatever, it’s fucking HEAVEN.

James fucks him with his luscious hot wet mouth, Gareth with his fabulous hot hard cock; they move and work and suck with such unison, such intense heartbeat rhythm, it’s like they’re the same person but they’re not, what one person has these four hands he feels all over his body, not wanting to separate whose are where exactly.

It’s heaven and bliss and he wants it to last forever.

He’s afraid it won’t last forever. James has such hot mouth and sweet little tongue that makes the quickest sharpest licks, it’s like a little hot fish was swimming all around his cock, and it’s almost unfairly over-stimulating that he chooses to fondle his balls with his fingers while another man is fucking his ass, he doesn’t know how much longer he can take it.

He’s so close, he moans and growls, buries his fingers in James’ hair.

 

Yes, yes. Gareth is so close but no, it’s not enough. He needs to thrust deeper, he has the urge to wrap himself all around Cristiano. He needs to own him. No less will do.

He lifts his upper leg, wraps it over Cristiano’s hip, foot to the front of his thigh.

“Can I turn you?” he asks, but it’s not really a question.

“OK”, Cristiano pants, he realizes it’s what he wants, the twist in the story, the turn around the next corner, even if means goodbye to the heaven he just a moment ago wanted to last forever.

James pops his head away from Cristiano’s leaking cock, gives way to watch fascinated how Gareth turns Cristiano over under him. Gareth lets out low, bear-like growls finding the best angle for his cock inside him, keeps his other leg wrapped around his thigh, knee bent to the side, the other knee pressing deep in the mattress, tight between Cristiano’s knees.

He yanks Cristiano’s hips a bit upright, just to turn his ass in a better angle, not too much, not so much that he couldn’t lay on top of him with all his weight.

Gareth fucks Cris forcefully, thrusts into him savagely, time and time again, panting Cristiano’s name, growling and moaning with pleasure. He tucks one hand in Cristiano’s hair, grabs it in his fist, manages to get a good grip between his fingers despite is shortness.

With his other hand he gropes for Cristiano’s face, traces his lips with his fingertips, tells him that his mouth is amazing, opens the lips with his fingers, pushes them in his mouth, one, two, loving the way Cristiano sucks into them immediately. Gareth’s mouth grips tightly the piece of flesh where Cristiano’s neck joins his shoulder, kissing and sucking, almost biting him.

Cristiano loves this new Gareth fucking him hard, nailing him to the mattress, getting all over him like a force of nature, a beast. It’s not often he can give up all control, just enjoy the ride.

James sees Cris is about climaxing and it looks so hot. Gareth senses it, he traps Cristiano’s pelvis tight down with his own. Cristiano’s strong neck is arching back, pushing his head up. Gareth keeps Cristiano’s head firmly in place, has it in his grip by the hair on his crown, presses it to his cheek with his hand.

Cris moans and mumbles into Gareth’s fingers in his mouth, struggles to get rid of them to really shout out his pleasure but Gareth is not letting go. He fucks vigorously, Cris twisting and squirming under him, all those beautiful hard muscles tensing against Gareth’s own. Cris clutches and claws the sheets with his hands, trashes and tramples them with his feet, toes curling, Gareth wraps his bent leg tighter to steady his movement.

Cristiano freezes so beautifully, clenches, pulsates and flutters around Gareth’s cock, shakes all over, lifts his head one more time, shouts and moans through Gareth’s fingers. “Oooh Cristiano”, Gareth  groans, thrusts deep, stays there hips and buttocks clenched tight. A flood of his seed FLOOSHES into Cristiano, it comes and comes forever, there’s no track of time in that moment.

 

He curls himself all over Cristiano’s body, releases his grip from his hair and his mouth, caresses Cris’ hair and cheeks as tenderly and soothingly with his hands as he can, wraps him in a tight hug, relaxing and softening inside him, he would like to stay that way for ages, dissolve into him, just melt together.

He slowly rolls down from Cristiano’s back, Cris turns slowly to his side, pulls him in close embrace, searches his lips with his own. The kiss is deep and relaxed but passionate in a way that tells Gareth he’s done something just right.

 

**_Calm in your eye_ **

 

Reluctantly releasing from the long embrace Gareth turns to his back and faces James who’s lying on his side next to him, leaning to a pile of pillows. He smiles.

“Sorry, James. I didn’t mean to have you left out”, Gareth says.

“Don’t be. I wasn’t. It was hot. Something you don’t see every day” James says and Gareth’s glad to understand every word this time.

James extends his hand over Gareth, messes Cristiano’s hair, satisfied to see it so tousled after Gareth’s treatment. “Haha, bro, you really liked it there. I thought nobody touches your hair but your stylist.”

“Watch it, James”, Cristiano warns. The happy smile shining all over his face contradicts his words.

“I watched it, thank you very much”, James answers cheekily. He’s turned to his stomach, resting his chin on Gareth’s shoulder. _Nature boy, so perfectly at ease with the both of us_ , Cristiano thinks.

Gareth turns his body towards James, wraps his arms in a tight hug around him and rolls him over himself to the other side, between him and Cristiano.

“You just keep tossing him around”, Cris says to Gareth.

Gareth shrugs. “What can I say, Wales and Colombia are famous wrestling nations.”

“No, they’re not”, Cris says.

“Might be”, Gareth answers and nuzzles James’ hairline. “This could be a wrestler’s neck.”

“Look, James, he’s all over you. What is it about you?” Cristiano asks.

James looks into his eyes. “You tell me, Cristiano. I’d fuck me”, he says.

Cristiano swallows. “Give me a minute to recover. You’ll get yours”, he answers in his softest, most seductive voice and leans over to kiss James’ lips.

 

**_You are like a hurricane_ **

 

James gets his. Cristiano turns in bed, raises himself on his hands and knees over James, straddled over his hips, hands on both sides of his head.

He bows his head down to plant soft kisses on James’ face, neck and shoulders, the marks Gareth has made on his skin; reaches one hand down to softly grab his dick, stroking it hard, kisses his mouth.

“How ready are you for me, James? Do you want me to fuck you?” he asks softly between kisses. “Do you want me inside you?”

“Yes, Cristiano, please”, James whispers under his breath, he’s had so much already tonight but Cristiano’s voice and his touch are something he could never be tired of.

Cristiano asks Gareth to pass him the lube. Gareth reaches for the bottle over James and Cris; it’s on Cristiano’s side so there might be a reason he asks him for it, he figures. He doesn’t say a word, just squeezes some gel on his hand with a smug smile on his lips.

“James, spread your legs, please”, he says and James is quick to obey. Gareth brings his hand to his ass, feels it already awaiting a touch, easy and soft on his slippery probing fingers, pressing back to them so sweetly. For a second he almost wishes he was Cristiano, but he’s had more than his share tonight and is quite sated, actually. Not that he isn’t aroused, how could he not be, James’ balls pressing to his wrist, his cute ass sucking his fingers, James’ and Cristiano’s soft sex whispers in the air.

Satisfied with his work he sits down on the bed, offering the bottle to Cristiano who is upright on his knees, straddled over James. “Or do you want me to do you, too?” he asks, and a surprised twinkle flashes in Cristiano’s eyes and he nods enthusiastically, “Yes, why not!”

“Okay” Gareth says, shifts closer, studies Cristiano’s face as he squeezes more lube on his hand, rubs his hands together to spread it evenly and strokes the whole length of Cristiano’s erect cock with both hands, enjoying the task quite a bit. “Glad to help”, he says and leans back to place the bottle on the other nightstand.

Cristiano moves to sit on his spread knees between James’ legs. He lifts his ass up, pulls it up on his thighs, direct his legs up and apart around his waist with one hand, aligns his cock right between his buttocks with another.

He feels his way spreading James’ ass with his both thumbs and slides his lubed cock in James’ lubed ass. Gareth did a thorough job and is obviously more than happy to watch the outcome.

James starts to hiss and moan immediately as Cristiano begins to move inside him, purring his half-swallowed Spanish curses. Cris balances his lower back on his thighs, keeps his other hand on his cock, rubbing it up and down, watching James’ reactions.

Cris would love to lift James up on his lap to ride him but he wants to be sure he doesn’t hurt his ankle. Instead he lets him slide on his back down to the bed and lowers his upper body on him, supporting himself with one arm, fucking down on James, stroking his cock with his other hand, drowning his mouth in a kiss that eats and drinks the sounds that James lets out.

 

“Please”, James says between kisses, “Gareth, come closer. I want to touch you.”

Gareth slithers closer, he’s on the same bed anyway, lays down on his side next to Cris and James, kisses James when he turns his face his way. He has a hint of Cristiano’s warmth and taste in his mouth and Gareth likes it, it’s sexy, the way they all have begun to mix and mingle.

James pants on the bed under Cristiano with his eyes closed, but his hand is very alive, groping on his side for Gareth; he reaches his side, follows the trail of his lean muscles, caressing every bit of skin his hand touches.

He’s so cute to want to do it, Gareth thinks. He’s content just to be there, see the other two enjoy each other, the aura of lust in the air, the sounds of pleasure, the occasional brush of skin on his would be enough, but James’ willingness to share the moment, to please him, is just overwhelming.

When James grabs his cock and strokes it with a firm grip, he moans out loud. James turns again to kiss his mouth, looks into his eyes, speaks to him pleadingly, directly. “Please, Gareth, I want you to come for me.”

It’s so straight out that it sends a rush of blood through his system. No doubt he does, shortly after he has seen how James’ closed eyelids flutter when his eyeballs turn back and his lips part and curve upwards; he looks like an angel in an altar painting, overtaken by religious passion, even though his passion is visibly and concretely carnal.

Cristiano collapses on top of James soon after that, spent and ready. They lay there in a limp, panting pile, the king size bed is a sticky mess of sweat and sperm and lube, how are they going to sleep in it?

Pretty well, apparently, since James seems to already be drifting into blissful unconsciousness. He gathers his last bit of strength to find a pillow under his head, turn to his side and draw a sheet over himself and dozes off.

 

**_That perfect feeling when time just slips away between us on our foggy trips_ **

 

“I can’t sleep with that thing on”, Cristiano points to the light circles the insistent mirrorball keeps throwing on the walls. He gets out of bed.

Gareth follows him to the control panel in the living room. He takes a small leaflet from the small shelf by the door, checks for the simple multilingual operating instructions, presses one button, the spotlight pointing to the mirrorball goes off and the ball stops twirling and buzzing.

“Anything else?” Gareth asks.

Cristiano thinks about the air conditioning for a second but gets a better idea.

“We should cool off a bit. I haven’t checked out the room’s terrace yet”, he says.

“We need to get dressed”, Gareth points out.

Cristiano goes back to the bedroom, raids its closet, finds a couple of bathrobes and brings them back to the living room. They’re made of heavy silk and they have a very ornamental jacquard pattern in hues of burgundy, black, bronze and gold.

“Classy”, Gareth laughs. “We’re like twin Hugh Hefners.”

“Yeah right, where are the Playboy bunnies?” Cris asks.

“I’ll be your playmate”, Gareth says.

“How can you be? You’re already my Hef twin”, Cris replies.

Gareth laughs and slams his back as they step through the sliding door to the terrace.

The street down below is dark and quiet, the weird hotel is clearly not situated in any kind of a nightlife center.

 

Cristiano leans over the railing, clears his throat and spits straight down to the ground. The big wet slimy clump lands on the asphalt, it’s easy to see even so far down.

“That’s just disgusting”, Gareth says. “What if somebody was walking down there?”

“There’s nobody”, Cris says. “C’mon, you must have done it when you were a kid. Go ahead.”

“No way, Cris”, Gareth says and smiles at him. Cristiano spits again, purposely with full force, like seeing how far he can make it land.

He makes Gareth laugh. Always that bursting energy. Whatever he does, he puts everything into it.

He loves him so much it hurts.

“I love you, Cris.”

“I know. I love you too.”

 

They lean to each other with their shoulders, press the sides of their heads together. Cristiano takes Gareth’s hand between his own, takes it to his lips, kisses his fingers and the back of his hand. Gareth gives Cristiano’s fingers a tight squeeze back.

Something catches his eye and he looks up, keeps Cristiano’s hand in his own, points to the sky with their joined hands.

“Look up there, Cris”, he says.

A star falls, drawing a short bright line in the deep blue velvet of the night, then another one.

He may not have learned to recognize one single constellation or planet at school but he knows he can make a wish.

Cristiano fills his wish instantly. The kiss is slow and warm and familiar and gives false promises because they are promises neither of them can keep beyond this night, but it will do for now.

 

“Let’s go check our patient”, Cristiano says finally, after a long silence, a comfortable one.

“I hope he’s all right”, Gareth says. “He’s a good kid.”

Cristiano smiles and squeezes his shoulders in a side-hug.

“You’re so funny. He’s like a year younger than you, Gareth.”

“Two years”, Gareth replies.

Somewhere far up another meteor enters Earth’s atmosphere and burns brightly.

It’s a perfect excuse for another kiss, the last one for the night. The last one for who knows how long, maybe forever.

  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments most appreciated <3 
> 
> Merry Christmas, Joy to the world!


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